


Roundin' the Bases

by UlternateFreak



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baseball, Baseball Idiots, Boys Being Boys, Boys In Love, Brother-Sister Relationships, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener & Peter Parker Friendship, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlternateFreak/pseuds/UlternateFreak
Summary: "I'll hit a homer for ya, Pete," Harley had said earlier that morning - two rough-looking black lines set high upon the ends of his cheeks. "And I know I look good in this uniform so ya can look."
Relationships: Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister, Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 165





	Roundin' the Bases

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a small inkling to write something related to baseball since seeing pics of Ty Simpkins - and a budding Parley romance just accentuates that idea. Really - this is a short one, but it's been taking so much room in the head that I'm just glad to have finally gotten it down with a basic concept of a plot.
> 
> Side note: It's 4:11 a.m. - how about that? Didn't even realize it haha

Peter hadn't thought much about the deal placed between them. Legally, it proved more an agreement than anything binding - and more request than even that. Not that Peter had minded any which way.

  
  
_"Baseball?"_   
_"Yah," Harley had nodded, his curls making up most of the frame. "I know sports ain't exactly your thing, but its the last of the season and..." Harley had teetered off, steering back into camera but looking beyond what Peter could physically see, "no-"_   
_"What?"_   
_"Not you," Harley said to him directly, "go away, Abbie-"_   
_He broke from the screen, the sounds of a distant door and a handful of giggles corrupting the feed._   
_"So," he then continued - curls bouncing back into view again, "think ya can swing by?"_   
_"Yeah," Peter answered, "definitely. When is it again?"_

  
  
The weather in Tennessee had been light and kind thus far, with minimal heat scoring the lot of what proved an attendee of twenty or so.  
Harley had detailed the facts of the 'event' to Peter, of course, though the latter had honestly thought the other dramatic in saying that no one had really cared about baseball - "let alone a high school league."

And though Peter had barely followed along - the small details of what he understood only sustaining him enough to dwindle on the outskirts of comprehension - he cheered. Once, every-time Harley rose to bat - and furiously, every-time the team had managed to score.  
  
"Harley's always been 17," Abbie droned on, the lack of attention from Peter not dissuading her in the least. She was much like Harley in that regard - in many regards, actually - albeit younger, which made it ever the more frightening. "It was dad's number. Though he'd never say it. Momma told me. She says Harley's too proud to admit it. Do you have a lucky number, Peter?"

  
  
_"17," Harley had insisted, not looking at Peter but rather at the man standing upright besides them._   
_"For the last time," Peter said, "you can't just jump from Alfred 5 to-"_   
_"I built him," Harley argued, "so I decree him Sir Alfred the 17th." He gave a small salute, using Mr. Stark's own arm as a ceremonial staff, knighting the now fully-functional micro-bot._   
_"Hes got a point," Tony nodded, forgoing a moment before swiftly pulling his arm back, "give me that-"_   
_"Traitor," Peter said, "the both of you."_   
_"Hey," the man said, "this is between you and that thing there. I don't play mediator - just ask Pep, I'm terrible."_   
_"Alfred was my invention, Harley-"_   
_"Alfred 17 was created usin' a basic ideology of your invention," Harley said with a small smirk, "and last I checked, ya - Mr. Parker - hadn't patent any such ideologies. Nor do ya have any right seein' as this project falls under Stark Industries-"_   
_"That's another excellent point-"_   
_"Mr. Stark-!"_

  
  
"Peter-!"  
"Yeah?" The boy had asked, finally turning round to face the younger Keener. "Uh - sorry, what were you saying?"  
"Nothin' important," Abbie muttered.  
"Hey - no, I said sorry, Har- Abby. Sorry."  
The girl smirked. "Ah, so it's Harley on your mind-"  
"What?" Peter flushed, "no. You just said a Harley thing-"  
"Its a momma thing," she said matter of fact-ly, "and you're bad at lyin'."  
The girl peered back to the field then, her smile broadening as she gave into a small series of claps. "Harley's battin' again-"

  
  
_To the surprise of absolutely no one - let alone Mr. Stark, or even Pepper for that matter- Peter and Harley had become something akinned to friends after that first initial meeting._

_Course that had only garnered such feats due to Harley's snooping into the Stark 'internship'. A damning set of events that had ended with an odd phone call set to Peter via Karen one afternoon._   
_How the boy had managed to infiltrate her system was still a mystery to him._   
_But in its wake, two things had become cemented into stone. One, Spider-man had not only been interrogated by the southern teen, but had been easily unmasked and marked as one Peter Benjamin Parker. And two, Harley Keener was adamant in making Peter understand who, and exactly what, he was._   
  
_"I'm an August man - what about ya? June?"_   
_"August actually-" Peter said._   
_"No foolin'? I'm 6th-"_   
_"10th-"_   
_"Small world! How old are ya?" Harley asked._   
_"16-"_   
_"I got a year over ya then! Which gives me superiority. You'll be my second - the old man won't know what hit 'em-!"_

  
  
The bat collided with a triumphant smack - the fair share of the home team taking heat as Harley took from the mound and onto first.  
And just as before, ever the weakest at times, Peter had simply stared - his eyes trained to the teens curls before drifting down and onto calves masked in white polyester pants.  
  
It had been around the first quarter of the game when Peter had started to overthink the 'deal' - more agreement - placed between them. Lost somewhere after Abbie's cat, Dinah, had found an opossum in Harley's closet, but before the story of the potato gun incident of 2009. Both equally fascinating tales that Peter had only half collected to memory.

And really it hadn't a thing to due with the story teller - nor the light heat - nor even the delegation of Peter's inability to say 'no' to most of Harley's demands - more requests.  
Because he hadn't minded the trip to Tennessee, nor the prospect of having to sit through a game with only Abbie as his one companion. But the more Peter watched, the more he seemed to think it all a mistake. And the more the seeds of denial and misplaced rooted arousal seemed to flourish.

  
  
_"I'll hit a homer for ya, Pete," Harley had said earlier that morning - two rough-looking black lines set high upon the ends of his cheeks. "And I know I look good in this uniform so ya can look."_

  
  
Peter hadn't ever looked to Harley Keener beyond anything of friendship. Despite the teases the older teen would suggest at every turn. And at the start, it had proved even less than that - more pest turned colleague. And the flirting a mere game.  
Yet his mind now seemed adamant in exploring the pools to that established outlook. Drawing dangerously deep at the wink that Harley had gifted him once he had stolen to third.  
  
"Pick up your chicken legs-!" Abbie had hollered, earning a righteous laugh that bellowed as Harley flipped her the bird. "You run like a duck!"  
"Which is it?" He hollered in turn, "am I a duck or a chicken?"  
"An idiot," she said.  
Peter smirked, but didn't release the look that Harley had directed towards him. Even as he removed his hat to swipe the sweat off along his forehead.  
"God - ya are gross-"  
"What?" Peter said, finally breaking forth and returning to the girl.  
"Bless ya heart," Abbie said, "but ya ain't subtle."  
"About what?"  
"That's my brother," she continued, looking in the direction of the next hitter, "and ya droolin' over him is makin' me sick."

  
  
The game ended 19 to 17, Harley's team being the latter but still honorable enough to boost in moral.  
It had still been a meek crowd by then, and yet the energy had brightened immensely. Really, Peter had hardly understood it - but the sight of scattered parents pulling at their sons in earnest attitude had been enough to set off a nerve or two.

"Sorry ya suck," Abbie had said, her arms in contrast as she threw them around Harley. "There's always little league. Sure ya can beat the tots."  
"Thanks," he had smirked.  
Peter chuckled, eyeing the two - but kept a small distance in between them. With his posture awkward, and shoulders drawn close.

"Shut up," Harley then flushed - Peter having not caught the whisper from Abbie, but feigning disinterest the same.

He then parted the girl's arms from his waist - and she had allowed him to do so. While simultaneously taking the brown snack bag he had held into her own.

"I'm takin' your Gatorade," she said.  
  
"Whatever," Harley said as he stopped before Peter, "hey" - his cheeks a nuanced but accessible crimson, "hope she wasn't too annoyin'-"  
"No," Peter had said.  
"Or borin'. Was it borin'? Ya could have gone if it was-"  
"No," Peter repeated.  
Harley chuckled. "You're bad at lyin'."  
"Y-your black lines melted off," Peter said lamely - in turn ducking his head as the other laughed once more.  
"Eye black, Pete," he had said, placing an arm around the other boys shoulder. "And sweat does that. This hat here," he continued with his other arm forcing his cap onto Peter's head, "is full of it-"  
"Gross-!" Peter flinched, tossing the hat off of him in seconds. "W-why'd-? Why would you-?"  
"'Cause ya make cute faces when I do." Harley said.

  
  
"You didn't hit a homer, you know."  
Harley hummed, coming around the small tattered couch with a spoon hanging between his lips.  
"I know," he said, "next time. I was off my game. Was distracted."  
Peter nodded, looking off from the sitting room and to the adjacent hall. "Whens your mom getting back?"  
"Before supper - don't worry, we'll get ya to the station in time."  
"Its not that-"  
"Again, lyin' ain't your specialty, Pete. Momma wants to cook ya dinner and then we'll get ya on the train. Course ya can always stay the night-"  
"I can't," Peter said, "I told May I'd be back-"  
"Nothin' a phone call can't fix."  
"Harley."  
"Peter," he said, just as exasperated. He took another spoonful of peanut butter then, bringing it to the others face.  
"No," Peter said, pushing it aside.  
"Fine," he sighed.  
"Sorry-"  
"Its okay," he said, "don't apologize. Ya just breakin' my heart is all, Darlin'."  
"You can't say it's okay and then do that!"  
"I'm jokin' - mostly." He smirked. "Okay - partially. Alright, fine - not at all. I want ya to stay, is that a crime?"  
Peter sighed. "No - but...why?"  
"Why do ya think?"  
"I don't know. Hence the question."  
"Hence," Harley repeated around another spoon, "ya don't make this easy, ya know that?" He paused, setting his mid-afternoon snack down and turned to the boy directly. His feet crossed and arms animatedly open. "I flirt with ya all the time," he continued, "I forced my way into ya life - and do everythin' ya say. All the other guys have their girls over to the game all the time. But I stupidly chose someone clueless - and miles away - what more do I have to do-?"

Peter braved onward, closing the gap between them that Harley had somehow met halfway between his ranting. And to his surprise, Harley had opted to force them apart in seconds - his face wildly comical with bright red patches streaked across his cheeks.  
"Whoa - Pete- I- uh," he stammered, looking at anything and everything aside from Peter. "Shit - fuck, why? T-that worked?"  
Peter laughed. "Saying exactly how you feel out loud? Yeah, it tends to make things easier. Plus-," this time, Peter looked off, craning once more in the direction of the hallway. The last thing he had needed was for Abby to come bouncing in. Again.

"You were right."  
"About what?" Harley asked, finally meeting the younger boys eyes once more.  
Peter grinned. "You do look good in that uniform."


End file.
